Blink
by Lilwazzabug
Summary: The Winchester brothers investigate murders performed by a stealthy killer and Sam has visions that disturb him greatly. What will he be willing to do to stop those visions from coming true?
1. Chapter 1

A man walked down a dimly lit hall way, gun drawn. He cautiously opened each closed door he came to; one on the right side, then the left, then the right again. He came to the end of the hallway and paused, hearing a thud in the last room on the right. He didn't hear someone appear at the end of the hall behind him, he didn't see them raise a gun, all he heard was the sudden, deafening sound of a gunshot before he was thrown against the wall in front of him by the force of a bullet entering his body. The man sunk to the floor, a bullet hole in his chest, right through his heart. Blood trickled over a familiar leather jacket as a man screamed somewhere in the backround.

Sam Winchester jerked out of his sleep, violently. He sat up quickly, his breathing was heavy and his vision was blurred with unfallen tears. Sam hastily wiped his eyes clear and looked over at his brother's bed next to his; Dean wasn't there. Sam pulled the covers off of himself and got out of bed. He walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Turning on the faucet, Sam splashed cool water over his face. The image of blood spilling over his brother's jacket flashed through Sam's mind. He cupped more water onto his face, as to wash away the image. Sam turned off the water and took up a towel, burying his face in it. The darkness of the towel over his face was comforting to Sam; he didn't get much relief from sleep and the towel provided the brief refuge of closing his eyes without the threat of having the reoccurring dream about Dean's death. After awhile, Sam tossed the towel on the side of the sink and left the bathroom. He took his watch off the bed-side table and put it back on his wrist; it read 7:23 A.M. he noted. Sam pulled jeans over his boxers and grabbed his jacket as he exited the hotel room. The sun shone blindingly off the Impala as it sat outside room #12. Sam tapped his index finger knuckled on the shiny, black surface as he passed the car and headed to the diner across the parking lot. A little bell on the door tinkled as Sam walked into the diner. An older woman smiled at him from behind the counter. Sam smiled back and scanned the restaurant. Finally locating Dean, Sam walked to the table he was sitting at. Dean looked up from his paper, a little startled by Sam. 

"Morning, Sammy. Was wondering when the Sandman was gonna ditch you."

Sam slid into the booth across from Dean and let out a deep sigh, blinking sleepily. "You're up unusually early."

Dean took a sip of his coffee and looked back down at the newspaper in his hand. "Yep, something about stale, hotel room air just invigorates me."

Sam breathed a short laugh and picked up a section of newspaper off the table.

Dean looked up at him for a moment."You look like crap, what's up with you lately?"

Sam glanced at Dean over the newspaper. "Nothing, I'm fine. Did you find any jobs for us?"

Dean gave Sam a look that clearly stated that he didn't believe that nothing was wrong and tossed an article in front of him.

"This guy, Thomas Monroe, was found shot through the heart in his home Thursday night. No signs of break-in, no signs of robbery." Sam picked up the paper and studied it.

"You have any idea of what it might be?" asked Sam after awhile.

Dean shook his head and leaned back against the booth. "No clue. But, that's why I find the article..." He tapped the newspaper with his index finger. "...And you do the research." He pointed at Sam and gave him his signature smart-alec smile. Sam gave him a look and pursed his lips a little. Dean chuckled and finished off his coffee. Sam read over the rest of the article and came to a name in bold print.

"Here's something; it says a woman named Francesca Lovell, a friend of the victim, found Thomas Monroe dead in his house."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Does it say where we can find her?"

Sam shook his head and bit the inside of his lower lip. "No, but I'm sure we can find out." He looked up at Dean, smirking mischievously.

Dean smiled and motioned at Sam. "Well, do your thing, college boy."

Sam laughed; a blessed relief from the disturbing images projecting through his head.

They left the diner, Dean a few paces ahead of Sam. A police car pulled up and two officers got out, laughing. Instinctively, Dean turned his face away and Sam caught up to him, obstructing the view of Dean from the officers. Both brothers were relieved when the officers paid them no mind and they finally reached their hotel room safely. Dean took off his leather jacket and tossed it on his unmade bed. He stood in thought for a moment.

"If only we hadn't taken that stupid job in St. Louis, eh Sam?"

Sam felt a pang of guilt for pushing Dean into going to investigate his friend's false conviction of murder.

"I was thinking the same thing." Dean walked to the bathroom and washed his hands.

"Psychic wonder strikes again." He said, looking in the mirror at Sam. Sam half smiled and sat down at the table next to Dean's bed, opening and switching on his laptop computer. He waited for the desktop to load and he typed in a search on Francesca Lovell. A few correctly matching results came up, one of them being a MySpace address. Sam shook his head a little and laughed to himself. Clicking on the link, Sam logged into his own account-which he would never admit to Dean of having- and viewed Francesca's profile.

"Dean, I found something."

Dean walked to Sam and read the screen over his shoulder. "Uh huh, brunette, 25 years old, Scorpio-"

Sam cut him off. "Dean, read lower and think higher, please." Sam pointed to the "Career" part of the profile.

Dean took his eyes off of "Special Talents" and moved them down to the "Occupation". "It says she works at the public library." Sam nodded and looked at Dean.

Dean grinned. "Dude, a librarian? I don't know, that's kinda hot."

Sam exed out of the page. Dean stopped grinning like an idiot and gave Sam a slightly disappointed look. Sam didn't notice, he typed in the name of the library listed on the MySpace sight into Google.

"Here it is, Rich County Public Library: 268 S. Berris St." Sam scribbled down the address on a piece of paper and put it in his pocket. He stood up, shut the laptop and looked at Dean.

"Let's go find out what she knows."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean pulled the Impala up to the Rich County Public Library. He and Sam got out of the car and climbed the steps up to the entrance.

"Excuse me..." Sam smiled at an older woman standing behind the check-out desk. "We're looking for Francesca Lovell, is she here?"

The woman took off her glasses off her nose and squinted around the vast library. "Ah, there she is over there." She pointed far across the room at a brunette stacking books on a shelf.

Sam drummed his fingers on the desk. "Thank you." He smiled and walked in the direction the librarian indicated. Dean nodded at the lady politely and followed Sam across the library. They reached the aisle labeled "Large-Print Fiction" and stopped in front of the brunette.

"Francesca Lovell?" asked Sam. Francesca looked up, a little startled, and smiled kindly.

"That would be me." She straightened up and looked over the two men standing in front of her, her eyes lingering on the slightly shorter one.

"We're reporters with The Sunday Scoop, we were hoping to ask you a few questions about Thomas Monroe; I'm Sam, this is Dea-rek." Dean furrowed his eyebrows a little and gave Sam a puzzled look.

Francesca sighed. "Oh, another interview. I should just type up the whole thing and peddle if off to every reporter who comes my way."

Sam smiled his signature "I understand" smile. "Would just take a few minutes."

Francesca let out a sigh and looked at Dean, who was grinning flirtatiously. "Alright, fire away." She finally agreed, and put a few books on the shelf next to her.

Sam took a deep breath and began. "So, you were friends with Mr. Monroe?"

Francesca smiled a little sadly. "Yeah. Me and Thomas worked together at the hospital."

Sam shifted his weight, furrowing his brow. "The hospital?"

Francesca nodded. "Mhmm, I just volunteer here on my days off, but yeah I work there as a nurse." Sam could read Dean's mind as he heard him chuckle quietly beside him.

Sam gave him a look and continued. "What happened the night you found him?"

Francesca ran her fingers thoughtfully over the bindings of a stack of books in her arms. "Well, I was going to help him with a patient that was puzzling him."

Francesca paused and smiled. "I'm not entirely sure his intentions were strictly business."

Sam cocked his head to the side a little, curious. "What makes you say?"

Francesca looked down, embarrassed. "He had made me dinner." She waved her hand, matter-of-factly. "That's where I found him, in the kitchen."

Francesca looked sadly up at Sam, who smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry." He said quietly. Francesca smiled and shook her head.

"Any idea who might've done it?" Chimed in Dean. Francesca looked at him, puzzled.

"Enemies? Angry ex-lovers?" elaborated Dean.

Francesca shook her head slowly then stopped. "Oh, well actually..." Sam and Dean looked at her anxiously.

"...There was this one guy, he lost his wife to cancer about a month ago and he was just hell-bent on that it was the doctor's fault."

Sam nodded a little in thought. "And Mr. Monroe was his wife's doctor?"

Francesca nodded. "Yeah. One of them anyway, there were like 4 others."

"Do you remember the patient's name by any chance?" A hallway quickly flashed before Sam's vision. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face to the ground.

"I don't really...are you alright?" asked Francesca, looking a little concerned. Dean turned towards Sam, his faces filling with concern as he looked at Sam.

"Uhh..." Was all Sam said. Dean took Sam by the arm.

"Thanks for talking to us." He said to Francesca as the lead Sam away.

Francesca took a few steps after him. "Yeah, hey is he ok?"

Dean smiled briefly and waved, leading his brother towards the exit. The sound of a gunshot resonated around Sam's head causing him to clutch his temple, clenching his teeth in pain. The vision became more clear. He saw a long hallway, Dean walked down it, cautiously opening each door he came to. He reached the end of the hall and paused, hearing a thud in the last room on the right. Dean didn't hear a faint whoosh of air at the opposite end of the hall behind him. A gunshot went off and Dean was thrown against the wall in front of him. He slid down, a bullet-hole through his chest. Blood rolled over his leather jacket as a man screamed in the background. Everything before Sam's eyes went blindingly white and he heard Dean's voice calling his name. Sam's vision cleared and he saw Dean kneeling before him.

"Sam! Can you hear me?" Sam was sitting on the steps outside the library, Dean's hands gripping his shoulders tightly. Sam nodded and put his hand to his aching head.

"I can hear you, Dean; you don't have to yell."

Dean released his shoulders and stood up, motioning back towards the library. "What the hell was that?"

Sam wiped sweat off his forehead. "Nothing."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Nothing? Sam you just had a vision!"

Sam tried to look matter-of-fact and shrugged. "So? It's not like it's the first time."

Dean shook his head. "Ok, Silvia Brown, so why don't you tell me about it?"

Sam looked down at the ground. "I don't remember."

Dean began to get aggravated. "You don't remember?"

Sam looked at Dean and stood up. "I don't want to talk about it." He said firmly, walking towards to Impala.

Dean followed him quickly. "Tough! You need to tell me what you saw."

Sam kept his gaze ahead of him. "Let it go, Dean."

Dean grabbed Sam's arm strongly, stopping him and turning him towards himself. "Listen to me! You called my name out in your sleep four times last week so don't you tell me to let it go."

Sam's eyes welled a bit with tears and he looked away from Dean. "You told me that I was just screaming." He said quietly.

Dean lowered his voice and loosened his grip on Sam's arm a little. "Yeah, so I lied. I didn't wanna freak you out, but I figured now since we're both freaked out..."

Sam smiled faintly and he looked back at Dean. "You're admitting you're freaked out?"

Dean cursed himself for letting that slip and shook his head. "No. Anyway, doesn't matter, you didn't answer my question: What did you see?"

Sam gently took Dean's hand off his arm. "It doesn't matter, cause it's not gonna happen." Sam walked to the Impala, wiping his tears on his sleeve.

"What does that mean?" asked Dean, raising his eyebrows.

"I won't let it." Answered Sam as he opened the passenger's side door and got in. Dean stared at him from the sidewalk.

Sam leaned over and looked at him through the open driver's side window. "Get in the car, Dean. My head is killing me."

Dean shook his head and walked to the Impala, getting into the driver's seat. "Man, you are a pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?" He said, turning the key in the ignition.

Sam laughed. "Yeah, so I've heard."

Dean gave him a worried, disappointed look as he turned to pull out of the library parking-lot. Sam looked out the window as they drove back to the hotel, deep in thought. This time when he had had the vision, Sam realized who's voice was screaming in the background...it was his. He had been there in the vision the whole time, which meant he would be there to try and stop it from coming true.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean unlocked their hotel-room door and walked inside, tossing his keys on the table. Sam followed and closed the door behind him. Dean dropped down onto his bed and opened a paper fast-food bag.

"Ok, I think we've had enough excitement for one day. I say we just hang out here tonight and pick up the trail again tomorrow."

Sam raised his eyebrows sleepily. "Sounds good." He crawled on his bed and lay on his back. Dean tossed a foil-covered chicken sandwich at Sam and looked at him for a moment, concerned. Sam blinked heavily, keeping his eyes closed for seconds at a time.

"Sammy, if you're tired just go to sleep."

Sam shook his head. "Sleep won't fix anything; it would probably just make it worse." Curiosity and frustration pulled at Dean's mind, but he resisted the urge to question Sam about his visions again.

"Well then eat; gotta keep your strength up some how."

Sam smiled and sat up, leaning against the wall behind his bed. "Yes sir!" He said, trying to put on a faux-serious expression over his smile.

"Shut up, smartass. I'm just trying to keep you up and running."

Sam laughed a little and looked at the sandwich by his hand. "What am I, a machine?"

Dean took a bite of a burger and nodded. "We ARE machines, we eat, sleep and hunt." He paused, looking at Sam."Except maybe just "hunt" in your case."

Sam grabbed the sandwich and unwrapped it. He took a bite out of it, giving Dean an "Are you happy now?" look.

Dean nodded and winked. "Better."

Many hours, and twenty miles across town, later; Charles Philips got off the elevator to the underground parking and walked to his car. He had just finished his shift at the hospital and it was nearly midnight. Charles' well-shined shoes echoed around the nearly empty, cement-walled parking garage. He clicked the "Unlock" button on his keychain and his car's lights flicked and it emitted a few shrill beeps. Charles opened the car door and was about to get in when he heard a faint rush of air; Charles turned around, but saw no one. When he turned back, there was a masked figure in front of him on the other side of the car door.

"What the hell?" He exclaimed, completely taken off guard.

"You let her die!" Said a man's voice from behind the black face mask.

"Who are-" Started Charles, but the masked figure raised a gun and pulled the trigger. A gunshot echoed loudly through out the garage and Charles Philips fell to the ground dead, a bullet embedded in his heart.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam rushed into room #12 and slammed the door noisily.

"Dean, wake up!" He tossed a newspaper on Dean's back and went to the closet, pulling out a dark-gray suit. Dean made a low noise and refused to unbury his face from his pillow. Sam went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

"Dean, another doctor was found shot to death." Sam pulled his thin, gray t-shirt off over his head and put on a collared, white shirt. He continued to yell out the door at Dean.

"It happened in the underground garage at the hospital where Thomas Monroe worked at." Dean pushed himself off the bed and sat up, squinting sleepily at the newspaper article Sam had thrown at him. Sam adjusted the dark-gray jacket over his broad shoulders and opened the bathroom door, walking back out into the room.

"So, you think the same person...thing...whatever did it?" Dean asked, looking up at Sam. He was taken aback a little. Sam had dark circles under his eyes and he looked a bit scattered.

"Dude! You look like hell, did you get any sleep?"

Sam nodded quickly and took in a breath. "Yeah, come on get dressed; we have to check out the hospital."

Dean watched Sam go back out the door then looked over at his still-made bed. Dean shook his head and sighed, concerned about Sam's lack of sleep. He ran his hand through his sleep-tousled hair and got out of bed. He pulled a worn pair of jeans over his boxers and grabbed his leather jacket as he went out the door to the Impala.

Dean looked at his watch; Sam had been in the hospital for a little over an hour. He had told Dean to stay in the car and keep a look out for anything suspicious-in other words "You can't risk being singled out as a false detective. " Dean sighed impatiently and scooted down in his seat, leaning his head against the back of it and closing his eyes. He started to drift off.

"Hey!" The voice startled Dean and he shot up right in his seat, looking about wildly.

Francesca laughed as she looked at him through the open driver's side window. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. It's, uh, Derek, right?"

Dean was disoriented from being startled, seeing Francesca staring at him and hearing himself be called by the name "Derek". "Uh, yeah, Derek." He collected himself and leaned suavely against the leather seat.

The woman smiled. "Remember me? From the library yesterday?"

Dean grinned. "Yeah, you're Francesca, I remember."

Francesca nodded and blushed, looking down. "Well listen, I don't want to bother you, but is your friend..." She paused. "Uh, boyfriend?"

Dean's face fell a bit and he quickly corrected Francesca. "Friend, just a friend he's my friend." They both laughed nervously.

"Right, sorry. So is he ok? He looked really odd." said Francesca, twisting her eyebrows up in concern.

Dean nodded. "Oh yeah, he's fine; just a uh, migraine from hell, ya know?"

Francesca winced. "Aww, that's too bad."

Dean smiled and nodded again. "So uh, how are you doing?" He asked after a few awkward moments.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just heading off to work." Francesca motioned to the hospital.

Dean glanced up at the hospital and raised his eyebrows. "Oh right, you're a nurse."

Francesca tugged at her shirt. "Hence the scrubs." She laughed. Dean laughed too, noticing how beautiful Francesca's smile was.

Francesca looked down again. "Well, I should get to work." Dean nodded.

"But, if your friend has anymore problems..." Francesca reached into her purse. "...Or, whatever, just give me a call, ok?" She handed Dean a card with her number on it.

Dean took it and mentally gave himself a high-five. "Oh thanks, will do." He smiled at Francesca through the window.

"Ok, well I guess I'll see you around, Derek."

"Yeah, you too."

Francesca looked at Dean with a hint of curiosity, smiled and straightened up, walking towards the hospital entrance. Dean chuckled to himself as he watched her walk away. He held up the card he was given and looked at it.

"A librarian AND a nurse?" Dean shook his head and whistled, pocketing the card. He looked up to see Sam walking towards the Impala, holding a few folders and what looked to be a VHS tape.

Sam sat in the passenger's seat and gave Dean a tired, though triumphant, look. "I think I know what we're dealing with."

Back at the hotel, Sam put the VHS tape he had acquired into the VCR.

"I got a copy of the surveillance footage from the parking garage the last night." Images flew by on the TV screen as Sam fast-forwarded the tape.

"This is from right before the time that Philips was killed." Sam pressed play. Dean watched the screen intently, brow furrowed, as he watched Charles Philips look behind him nervously. Right before Charles turned back around, Sam paused the tape and pointed to the masked figure standing on the other side of the car door. He looked at Dean.

"Notice anything strange?"

Dean leaned back. "That creepy dude wasn't there before?" Sam nodded and rewound the footage a little, putting it in slow-mo. The masked figure seemed to just appear. Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam.

"Not only was he not there before, he seemed to materialize out of thin air. Security thought it was just a glitch in the film." Sam un slow-moed the tape and let it play. After the masked man shot Charles Philips, he disappeared on the spot. Sam stopped turned off the TV and looked at Dean, who had a puzzled look on his face.

"So...this guy is pulling a Houdini?"

Sam smiled. "Something like that, I think this thing is a teleporter."

Dean laughed in disbelief. "We're going after X-men now?"

Sam gave him a puzzled look and shrugged. Dean raised his eyebrows and stood up, taking in a deep breath.

"Seriously dude, get to Blockbuster every once in awhile."

Sam sighed and picked up one of the folders. "This is the other thing I found. Remember that patient that Francesca told us about?"

Dean nodded and walked over to Sam. "Yep, the one who died of cancer and the husband held a major grudge against the doctors?"

Sam nodded and flipped to a page of the file. "Exactly and look here. Both Thomas Monroe and Charles Philips were that woman's doctors, so-" Dean picked up on Sam's train of thought and finished off the sentence.

"So you think the husband went on a vengeful rampage and is killing off all the doctors who supposedly let his wife die?"

Sam smiled and nodded. "I think he may be the teleporter. You saw it yourself, that first article said there was no sign of break in at Thomas Monroe's house."

Dean grinned and clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Good job, detective Halen. You got the dude's address?" Sam nodded, closing the folder he was holding and pulled another file from underneath it; containing the information Dean inquired about.

"So how do we kill the bastard?" Dean lifted the heavy weapons bag on the bed and pulled out a gun, examining it.

Sam looked a little skeptical. "You really think it would be right to kill him?"

Dean opened the chamber of a pistol and squinted down it. "If we don't he'll kill the rest of those doctors." He snapped the gun shut. "And who knows what else he might get away with." Dean looked up at Sam; he looked completely exhausted.

"Seriously, are you ok?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah, it just seems...wrong some how."

Dean returned the weapons back to their bag. "It's the only way to stop him from getting away with murder, Sam." He looked at Sam, waiting for a response.

Sam finally agreed. "Yeah, you're right." He smiled faintly, his eyes gazing at the floor tiredly.

Dean put the duffle bag on the floor and walked over to Sam, giving him a concerned look. "You need sleep, man."

Sam continued to look down pensively, his nose twitched a little and he looked up at Dean. "Sleep isn't my biggest concern right now, Dean." And he walked to his bag and pulled out some clothes.

Dean closed his eyes for a second in frustration and turned to his brother. "You're driving me nuts with this whole vision thing, Sam."

Sam turned and looked at him, smiling bitterly after a few moments. "Welcome to my world." He said, spreading his arms out. He then walked to the bathroom to change into his regular clothes. Dean clenched his jaw and raised his fist as if to punch the wall, but he restrained himself and just thumped it lightly. Dean ran his hand over his face and walked over to Sam's computer, switching it on. He sat and typed in a search on Google. Dean scrolled over a few pages and clicked on one that looked interesting. Sam came out of the bathroom finally. He hung his gray suit back up into the closet and walked over to his bed, sitting on it.

"Find out how to stop him yet?" He asked quietly after awhile.

Dean glanced at him and shook his head. "Not quite." Sam let out a deep breath and drummed his long fingers on his leg. After a long awkward silence, Dean finally spoke, reading over a web page.

"Silver bullets will do the trick." He looked over at Sam.

"Course you have to be able to hit the bastard first, it's gonna be like targeting flies out of mid air."

Sam tried to smile a little. "Lucky us."

Dean closed the laptop. "Yeah, well I could go for the target practice anyway." He smirked at Sam, attempting to lighten the mood. Sam laughed quietly, appreciating his brother's effort. Dean stood up.

"Ok let's go, you got that address?" Sam nodded and took the paper out of the folder with the address written on it. He followed Dean out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun was nearly set as Dean drove the Impala down an empty street.

"Here, stop here." Said Sam, looking at the piece of paper in his hand. Dean pulled to the side of the street and turned off the engine.

"This is it, 1625 Navajo Ave." Dean looked across the street at a slightly falling apart house.

"Looks charming." He took in a deep breath. "Alright, let's get this over with."

Sam pulled two guns out of the bag at his feet, handing one to Dean. Dean released the bullet cartridge.

"You ready?" asked Sam, looking at his brother. Dean tapped the cartridge against the gun and replaced it in with a click. He turned his gaze to Sam and smirked.

"I'm always ready." And he got out of the car. Sam smiled and shook his head, getting out himself. Both brothers stowed their guns at the small of their backs and headed towards the house across from them. Dean readied a fake badge in his pocket as Sam rang the door bell. An unsure looking man answered the door after awhile.

"Harris Mitchel?" Asked Dean in a severe voice.

"Yes." Said the man, standing a little taller.

"I'm officer Brookes," Dean held up the fake badge. "This is officer Marcus; may we ask you a few questions?"

Harris studied the badge for a moment and looked up at the two young men in front of him, cautiously. He opened the door all the way and ushered Sam and Dean inside.

"Can I get you anything, officers?" He led them into the living-room.

"Nah, thanks. Let's just get right down to business." Said Dean. He and Sam took a seat on the couch across from Harris. Harris Mitchel was creepy looking; he had bug eyes, a long pointy nose and floppy black hair that fell in a ragged way across his forehead. He wasn't really old, no more than forty or so. Dean sat forward, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees.

"So, you're wife, Janean, passed recently?"

Harris nodded slowly. "Not but a month ago, cancer of the kidney."

Sam smiled dolefully. "We're sorry for your loss."

Harris nodded his thanks. "Those damn doctors." He mumbled.

"What's that?" asked Dean, his face darkening a little.

Harris looked up. "Those damn doctors, they could have done more to save my wife."

Dean smiled sarcastically. "So is that why you're killing them all off?"

Sam looked at Dean, shocked at his abrupt revelation of their true intentions.

Harris looked surprised. "What are you talking about? I didn't do nothing." He looked down, his eyes catching at something on the floor, he moved his gaze away from it quickly. Dean saw Harris' eyes dart away from something and he leaned back, looking under the coffee table. He bent down and picked up what was under the table.

"Nothing, huh?" Dean held up a black face mask. Harris' face slowly went from fear to intense anger. He smirked a little.

"You won't ever take me alive." He blinked his eyes and he was gone. Sam & Dean stood up quickly. They heard a crash upstairs.

Dean drew the gun from the small of his back. "Well, he was right about the last part."

He ran to the staircase, closely followed by Sam. They climbed the stairs and looked around cautiously once they reached the top. Dean turned right in time to see Harris appear right in front of him. He threw Dean against the wall and ran down the hallway, disappearing right as he went into the last room on the right. Sam ran after him and ducked into the room. Dean picked himself up off the floor, clenching his teeth angrily. He raised his gun and walked down the hall, cautiously opening doors as he went. Sam circled the room and inspecting to make sure it was secure. He turned to go back out to the hall when Harris materialized in front of him, kicking Sam in the stomach causing him to fall to the ground heavily. Harris took up Sam's gun and disappeared again. Sam looked around wildly, his eyes falling upon Dean outside the doorway in the hall. Realization and fear flooded through Sam as he looked up at Dean standing in the hallway that had become very familiar to him in his visions.

"No, Dean!" Sam was on his feet in a second and he threw himself at Dean as a gunshot went off down the hall. Still surprised, Dean turned and fired a shot at Harris from around Sam. Harris disappeared before the bullet could reach him.

"Son of a bitch, so close!" Dean noticed Sam was standing uncomfortably close to him.

"Dude, what are you-" Dean stopped as he looked up at his brother. Sam was staring at Dean, his eyes shone with tears and his face twitched a little. Dean furrowed his brow and his mouth formed to say "What?" but he stopped. Sam took in a short, raspy breath. Dean's eyes grew wide as blood trickled out of the corner of Sam's mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

"Sam?" breathed Dean. Sam started to fall to the floor; Dean caught him under the arms.

"Sam!" Dean lowered him to the floor, his hand touching something wet. Dean slowly took his hand off the side of Sam's chest; it was covered in blood. He quickly moved Sam's arm out of the way to reveal a bullet-hole in his upper rib-cage. Sam coughed, blood dripping from his mouth.

"Oh my god." Dean breathed, his heart racing; he was half in shock.

"Sam! Sam talk to me!" Dean touched Sam's face briefly and returned his shaking hands to the bullet-wound, putting pressure on it in attempts to stop the bleeding.

"I told..you." Sam swallowed hard and continued shakily, almost in a complete whisper. "I told you that I w-wasn't gonna let...it happen." He smiled faintly, looking satisfied.

Dean's lips parted and quivered a bit in realization. "What?"

Sam looked at Dean, his face turning pale. "I s-saw you die...wasn't gonna let it happen." Dean would have been furious had the conditions been different.

"Damnit, Sam. Just hold on, ok!" Dean started to help Sam into a sitting position when he saw his eyes grow wide. Dean heard a click of a gun behind him; he felt the end of it, still warm from its last firing, on the back of his head.

"Told you you wasn't gonna take me alive. Now look who's holding all the chips." Dean looked at Sam's surprisingly calm face. He gave him a puzzled look and Sam mouthed "Duck." Dean quickly did so as Sam raised Dean's gun and fired three shots into the teleporters head. Harris disappeared and landed with a thud a ways down the hall, lying lifeless on the hardwood. Sam let his arm fall, the gun dropped, clattering across the floor. He breathed heavily, his breath coming out in wheezes. Dean frantically held his hand against Sam's heaving rib-cage, not being very successful in his attempts to slow the blood pouring from the wound on Sam's side.

"Ah, damnit!" He quickly stood up and went into the room on the left. Dean threw open the closet and located what he was looking for, a belt. He grabbed it off its hanger and returned to Sam, kneeling beside him. Dean took hold of his jacket and pulled Sam upright, leaning him against his shoulder. He removed Sam's blood-soaked jacket and put the belt around him, making sure to cover the bullet-hole with it. Dean leaned Sam back against the wall, looking at him right in the eyes.

"Ready?" Sam nodded as much as he could and Dean pulled the belt tight around his chest. Sam groaned through clenched teeth and he gripped Dean's jacket sleeve tightly. Dean fastened the belt and looked anxiously at his brother.

"How ya feelin', Sammy?" He asked, trying to keep Sam conscious with conversation. Sam blinked heavily and just looked at Dean.

"Sam? Answer me!" He demanded, gripping Sam's shoulders.

Sam smiled faintly. "I'm super." He choked out quietly.

Dean nodded, fighting back tears. He took Sam's arm and put it over his own shoulders. Sam's hand was cold in Dean's as he lifted him off the floor. Slowly, they made their way down the hall. Dean's face twitched with rage as he looked down at Harris. 

"You son of a bitch." He mumbled through clenched teeth as he stepped over him. Finally Dean managed to get Sam and himself safely down the stairs, out the door and to the Impala. Dean was grateful for the darkness that had fallen, lest anyone see him or Sam. Dean lowered Sam into the passenger's seat and quickly rushed to the driver's. Sam shivered as Dean started up the Impala. Dean turned the heater on full blast and pulled out of the neighborhood. He drove quickly, racking his brain. _"What the hell do I do now?" _He thought to himself. _"The hospital?" _ Dean hit the stirring wheel angrily. _"No, you can't go in hospitals anymore, that damn shape shifter." _Dean was brought back from his thoughts by the realization that Sam's breaths were getting farther apart. He heard Sam let out a breath and Dean waited for him to take in another...he heard nothing. Dean looked at Sam quickly. Sam slouched in the seat next to him, his pale, pained face resting against the window. 

"Sam, don't you do this! SAM!" He shook him sharply and Sam's breathing started again, still weak and shuddering but breath nontheless. Dean's face twitched with overwhelming emotion and he looked back at the road. _"Don't you let him die, Dean. Don't you dare let him die! Think of something right now!" _Dean passed the library and a thought clicked in his head. _"Francesca!" _Dean fumbled in his jacket pocket for the card she had given him. He located it and pulled out his cell-phone, dialing the number. He swerved back into his lane and pressed the "Send" button. The phone rang a few times.

"Come on! Please be home." The phone line connected.

"Hello?" Said a woman's voice.

"Francesca? It's Dea-rek."

"Hey Derek, how are-"

"Listen, this is an emergency, where do you live?"

"What? Why?" Dean got aggravated quickly.

"It's my friend, he having uh...problems again."

"Oh, well...ok." Francesca gave Dean her address and Dean ended the call. He was thankful that Francesca didn't live far from where he was at. Dean pulled onto the given street and screeched to a halt in front of Francesca's house. He cut the engine and went around the Impala to the passenger's side. He gathered an unconscious Sam and stumbled to the front door, knocking strongly. Francesca opened the door smiling, but her face fell when she saw Sam's blood-soaked shirt.

"Hi, I really need your help right now." Dean pulled Sam into the house.

Francesca closed the door and covered her mouth. "Oh my god, what happened?" She looked in shock as Dean laid Sam on the floor in the living-room, putting a couch pillow under his head.

Dean stood up shakily and looked at Francesca, breathing heavily. "H-he's been shot, can you help him?"

Francesca looked at Dean's blood-stained hands. "But, I-Why didn't you take him to the emergency room?"

Dean searched desperately for a false, yet believable, excuse. "You know, there is a good answer to that question but I just don't have it." Dean walked past Francesca, but she put her hand out on his chest, stopping him.

"Wait! Tell me why he is shot and why you can't just take him to-" Francesca stopped, staring wide-eyed up at Dean's face. She took her hand away and backed up slowly.

"I know who you are. I knew you looked familiar, but I couldn't place you."

Dean shifted his weight and he closed his eyes, frustrated. "Wait, just hold on a second."

Francesca's expression grew intense. "You're Dean Winchester. You're the most wanted criminal in America."

Dean took a few steps towards Francesca, putting his hands out desperately. "Please, just-"

Francesca moved away towards the phone. "You stay the hell away from me." She said steadily as she took up the phone. Dean grabbed her wrists in his hands.

"Let go of me!" Francesca demanded, desperately trying to twist her wrists free.

"Listen, listen!" Dean pleaded, trying to steady Francesca's hands. Francesca wriggled, trying to break free.

"Please..." Dean looked into her eyes desperately. Francesca stopped fidgeting as much.

"I'm begging you; just-just hear me out." Francesca looked at Dean for a few moments and nodded slowly. Dean let go of her wrists and backed up a little.

"You've got one minute." Said Francesca, holding up the phone in warning.

Dean took in a deep breath. "I know there is probably no way you'll believe me, but this is the truth." Francesca crossed her arms and nodded.

"I did not kill anyone." Dean paused to see Francesca's reaction; she just stood, staring at him.

"This is the most incredible case of mistaken identity you could ever imagine and you have to believe me."

Francesca looked Dean up and down. "Why should I?" She asked quietly. Dean looked at the ground and then at Sam, laying on the floor in the living-room. His chin trembled a bit and he looked back at Francesca.

"Because if you don't..." Dean paused, taking in a deep breath.

"...Then my brother is going to die." Dean wanted to break down right there as he heard the words escape his lips. Francesca's expression softened as she looked upon Dean's face.

"If you really want to turn me in then so be it, but please...help him first." Dean stared at the floor, silently begging for the answer he wanted to hear. Francesca slowly lowered the phone back onto its cradle and looked at Dean with sad eyes. Criminal or not, she had never in her life seen a man act the way that Dean was acting now.

"Ok." She said quietly after awhile. Dean closed his eyes in relief and he felt something on his arm. He opened his eyes to see Francesca looking at him, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

"Go stay by him, I'll get what I need." Dean nodded and walked back in the living-room, wiping his eyes as he kneeled next to Sam. The tourniquet seemed to be working well, but Sam's breathing was still shallow, raspy and infrequent. Dean took a bandana from his pocket and gently wiped away the blood from around Sam's mouth. Francesca walked lightly into the room and set down numerous supplies and objects next to Sam.

"Ok, I'll take it from here." She said, almost in a whisper. Dean looked at Francesca gratefully and stood up, walking to a chair a few feet away. He sat down and watched anxiously as Francesca cut off Sam's shirt and began with the procedure. Working with what she had, Francesca carefully removed the bullet from Sam's chest and cleaned and dressed the wound. A few hours later, Francesca stood up, her work finished. Dean had drifted off some time during the few hours that had passed; Francesca woke him gently. Dean raised his head sleepily and looked at Sam.

"He's going to be fine." Dean looked up at Francesca smiling at him.

"Come on." She moved her head to the side a little, motioning Dean to follow her. Dean stood up and looked down at Sam. His breathing seemed to have evened out a bit and his color was turning to one of a more healthy hue. Dean sighed and walked to the kitchen. Francesca had thrown away the bloody rags and Sam's shirt and was washing her hands when Dean came in the kitchen; she looked at him over her shoulder.

"The two ribs the bullet went through are a little cracked, but it shouldn't give him too much trouble, they'll heal up in a few weeks."

Dean leaned against the door frame. "I don't know how I could ever thank you enough."

Francesca smiled at him. "It's what I do."

Dean laughed a little. "Yeah, but not for suspected murderers."

Francesca turned off the faucet and took up a towel. She dried her hands and clasped them in front of her, facing Dean and leaning back against the sink.

"I want you to know, I believe you; I don't think you killed anyone."

Dean cocked his head a bit to the side. "What made you change your mind?"

Francesca looked at him for a minute and smiled. "No killer cares about their brother that much."

Dean looked down and rubbed the back of his neck. "Never thought my pansy side would save my ass."

Francesca laughed a little. "So you _do_ have a pansy side?"

Dean smiled. "Yeah, don't tell Sammy; I'd never hear the end of it."

Francesca pretended to zip her lips shut. "Not a word." There was silence for a few minutes.

"So, what happened there?" Francesca motioned towards the living-room. "If you don't mind me asking."

Dean shook his head and looked down, in thought for a few moments. "Sam jumped in front of a bullet to save me." He said regretfully.

Francesca raised her eyebrows in astonishment. "Wow, that was unbelievably brave of him."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, either that or incredibly stupid."

Francesca smiled. "I'm sure you'd commit such an "Incredibly Stupid" act for him, too."

Dean nodded, his face slowly turned to be serious. "Yeah, I would."

Francesca gazed at him. "I admire that in a man."

Dean looked up at Francesca and met her gaze. They both stood, looking at each other for awhile.

"Listen," said Francesca, closing her eyes and looking down, smiling a bit.

"I think we could both use a pretty strong drink after all that has happened tonight, yeah?"

Dean pointed at Francesca and smiled. "Now, you're talkin'."

Francesca motioned to a small, round table in the middle of the kitchen. "Have a seat."

Dean walked to the table and pulled out one of the chairs, taking a seat.

Francesca stood on her tip-toes and opened a cabinet. "Tequila? Vodka? Rum?" She asked, looking over at Dean. Dean raised his eyebrows, a smirk flitting across his lips. Francesca smiled, embarrassed.

"I'm really not an alcoholic, I promise. I just have a job that can be total hell sometimes."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I get it. Uh, Vodka sounds like a winner."

Francesca closed the cabinet and walked to the freezer, pulling out a bottle of Absolut Vodka. "Exactly what I wanted." She brought the bottle and two glasses to the table, taking a seat across from Dean. Francesca poured decent amounts of liquor in each glass and replaced the lid.

"Here's to..." She lifted up her glass and thought for a moment.

"...To jobs that keep you on your toes and out of your mind." Dean smiled and clinked his glass against Francesca's. He kept his eyes on her as they both downed their drinks; Dean always liked to see how different women handled their liquor. Francesca finished and put her empty glass on the table, not a hint of a grimace crossed her face. Dean nodded, impressed. He swallowed the vodka and placed his empty glass next to the one on the table.

Francesca put her elbows on the table, tucking her hands underneath her arms. "So, now that I know that your name is not in fact Derek..." Dean shook his head and chuckled.

"...Is there anything else that might prove interesting about you." Dean looked up at the ceiling and tried to conceal a smile, thinking over all the things that would DEFINITELY prove interesting about himself.

"Nothing, too uh crazy, I guess."

Francesca poured them more vodka. They continued to talk over the course of the rest of the night, having more drinks...many more.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam opened his eyes, groggily. Sunlight fell in bands as it filtered through the blinds onto the hardwood floor next to where Sam was sleeping. Sam sat up a little, causing his left side to twinge in pain. He grimaced and reached over, feeling a bandage stretched across his bare chest. Sam recalled all that had happened. _"Oh God, I hope Dean's alright." _He thought to himself. Sam rolled over and stopped abruptly, looking at the couch. _"Oh, he is perfectly ok." _ Dean was stretched across the couch fast asleep, Francesca lying to the side, and almost on top, of him. Dean's arm draped gently over her and Francesca's hand rested on his chest, rising and falling as Dean breathed. Sam's eyes scanned over an empty bottle of Absolut Vodka and two glasses, one overturned on its side. He shook his head, chuckled quietly to himself, and stood up; searching for his shirt. Sam found it awkward to be standing in the middle of a strange room, shirtless, while his brother slept with a girl in his arms a few feet away. After a couple moments, Sam decided to risk the awkwardness and wake Dean up. Cautiously, he walked up to his brother.

"Dean?" His throat was sore from coughing and his voice cracked a little. Sam shook Dean's arm lightly, watching his face for signs of stirring; nothing. Sam tried again, a little louder this time. 

"Dean." Dean took in a deep breath and fidgeted a little, his arm bent closer around Francesca's small form. Sam grinned and he was forced to go to drastic measures. He pinched Dean's arm, getting an instant result. Dean's arm jerked away and he took in a short breath, opening his eyes.

Sam smiled at him mischievously. "Sorry to uh, interrupt, but where's my shirt?"

Dean gave him a puzzled look and noticed the weight on the left side of his body. He looked down at Francesca's sleeping form, her head resting on his shoulder and her hand splayed across his chest. Dean looked at Sam again, an embarrassed smirk spread across his face.

Sam grinned. "You know, we should probably get out of here before this whole thing unfolds."

Dean nodded and looked at Francesca, almost hating to wake her. "Uh, Francesca?"

He put his free hand on Francesca's shoulder and eased her up as he moved them both to a sitting position. Francesca stirred and looked around sleepily.

Her eyes fell upon Sam and she smiled. "Oh, morning. How are you feeling?"

Sam chuckled and nodded. "Alright, I guess."

Francesca nodded and realized after a few moments that she was smack up against Dean. "Oh, wow sorry!" She quickly stood up off the couch. "Sorry, I didn't mean t0-"

Francesca stopped and put her hand to her head, grimacing. "Wow, stood up way too fast." She opened her eyes and saw the empty liquor bottle and glasses.

"That looks about right." She nodded a little.

Sam shifted his weight. "Listen, do you happen to have a shirt I could borrow?"

Francesca looked at him, just now noticing that he was wearing pants and not much else. "Oh, of course, be right back."

She carefully made her way to the stairs and went up them. Sam turned to Dean who was getting up off the couch. He stopped grinning when he had stood up all the way and made a pained face.

"Man, my head is freakin' killing me."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Well God, Dean, a whole bottle?"

Dean gave him a defensive look. "I didn't drink the whole damn thing myself." He rubbed his hand over his eyes and let out a deep breath.

Sam made a face. "Uh...ya'll, didn't..." He fidgeted uncomfortably and poked his hand at the couch.

"...While I was asleep on the floor, did you?"

Dean glanced back at the couch and looked up, thinking. "No." He said finally, still thinking.

"We uh, came in here to sit down and have a few more drinks." Dean narrowed his eyes, trying to remember.

"I think...she pushed me, playfully ya know? And I fell over and it felt good to lay down...I think we just both fell asleep." Dean cleared his through, noticeably uncomfortable, and looked at Sam.

Sam held back a smirk and nodded. "Suave, Dean...really."

"Shut up, you were out cold on the floor, dude. What was I supposed to do?" Sam smiled and shrugged as Francesca came back into the room holding a black t-shirt in her hand.

"Here ya go." She handed it to Sam.

"My ex left it here awhile back." Sam smiled his thanks. He lifted his arms, grimacing at the pain coming from his right side, and put the shirt over his head. Sam pulled down the shirt to reveal a big, yellow smiley with its eyebrow raised stretched across his chest. He looked slowly up at his brother.

Dean nodded and smirked, clapping Sam on the right shoulder. "It suits you, little brother."

Francesca put her hand to her mouth, concealing her smile. "Yeah, I guess there was a reason I broke up with the guy." She said, laughing to herself.

Sam turned to Francesca. "Thank you so much for uh..." He motioned to the left side of his chest; Francesca nodded, smiling.

Sam smiled and glanced at Dean. "I'll be in the car; see you around, Francesca." Sam snatched Dean's jacket off a chair defiantly and put it on, covering up his happy shirt.

"Bye, Sam." Said Francesca as Sam smiled at her and went out the door. She turned to Dean and walked the few steps towards him.

"So uh, did we...?"

Dean shook his head. "No, we just fell asleep."

Francesca smiled. "Ok, good...I guess." She looked down, smiling shyly.

Dean looked at her thoughtfully. "Listen, I'd love to give ya a call sometime, but..."

Francesca nodded and looked up. "I know, but you're on the run for a murder you didn't commit."

Dean nodded, regretfully. "Right."

Francesca laughed. "Must admit, that's the best excuse I've had from a guy yet."

Dean laughed a little and gazed down at Francesca, running his hands lightly over her arms. "I want to thank you again for what you did for Sam."

Francesca blinked and nodded, looking up at him. Dean paused for a moment then bent down, kissing Francesca lightly on the lips. Francesca put her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with a little more intensity. Dean put his hands on the small of her waist, pulling her closer. After a few moments their lips parted and they looked at each other.

"You're welcome." Said Francesca quietly, smiling up at him.

Dean sighed, slight regret pulling at his mind. "So you're not gonna call the feds on me?"

Francesca smiled faintly and shook her head. Dean nodded and let go of her waist; Francesca took her arms from around his neck. Dean ran his hand over her arm again and he walked to the door.

He paused as he opened it and he looked back. "I wish circumstances could be different."

Francesca smiled and nodded, putting her hands in her back-pockets. "Call me when the verdict is not guilty."

Dean nodded his head a little. "Later, Francesca."

Francesca waved her hand in a small arc. "Bye, Dean."

Dean looked at her one last time and shut the door. He walked down the front steps and out to the sun-reflecting Impala. Sam looked at him intently, smiling as Dean got in the car.

Dean glanced at him and started up the engine. "What?"

"She got to you, didn't she?" Sam grinned at him. Dean turned the wheel and drove the Impala down the street, not answering Sam's question.

Sam chuckled a little and patted Dean on the shoulder. "That's my boy."

Dean smiled and looked at Sam, shaking his head a little. "It just sounds weird when you say it, dude."

Sam laughed and looked out the window, feeling the nearly forgotten benefits of a good-night sleep, completely vision free.

Sam came out of the bathroom, back at the hotel, newly dressed in clothes that didn't look like they had come straight from a twelve year old boy's closet. He tossed the smiley shirt in the trashcan triumphantly. Dean was throwing clothes and random possessions in his bag.

"How's your uh..." He indicated Sam's bandage. Sam nodded and swiveled his left shoulder a bit.

"It's a little sore, but fine." Sam began packing up his bag as well.

"You gave _me _a big scare for a change, Sammy."

Sam smiled. "Now you know how it feels. You gonna think twice before doing something crazy again now?"

Dean made a face. "Me? What about you? I'd say jumping in front of a bullet qualifies as crazy."

Sam looked down and gathered up his computer. "I did what I had to, Dean." He said quietly.

"Yeah and you nearly got yourself killed." Dean's voice grew strong with worry and regret.

"You would've died, I saw you die, Dean."

"Yeah, well better me than you." Dean mumbled, almost inaudibly.

Sam stopped packing, facing his brother. "Better for whom, Dean?"

Dean looked ahead of him briefly and swung his packed bag to the floor.

"It's not better for either of us if I die or if you die." said Sam quietly.

Dean shook his head and smiled bitterly. "God, you really are dark..."

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. "Dean, I'm serious. Don't you ever think it would be better for me if you died saving my life."

Dean looked up at his brother, his face serious. "Right back at ya."

Sam nodded. "Ok."

Dean stood for a moment and brightened a bit. "Let's strike a compromise: we do what we can to take each other's asses and hope for the best." Dean raised his eyebrows and spread his arms a little.

Sam thought about it for a moment and smiled, putting his hand out. "Deal."

Dean shook Sam's hand and put his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Come on..." Dean released Sam's hand and picked up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. "Let's make like Elvis and get the hell out of here."

Sam laughed, took up his own bag and followed Dean, closing the door behind him. The Winchesters had left the building.


End file.
